I’ll take an EPMS over jersey sag on the adventure bike any day. For a couple reasons; I’ve lost things out of my jersey pockets while hike-a-bikeing and shouldering and it’s just uncomfortable on rough terrain bouncing around and sometimes even leaving scrapes and bruises on my lower back. Plus, there’s a tendency to fall more and…

Sometimes my testicular protuberances are quite large. It’s an adventure bike so on some level we’re talking apples and oranges. This thing goes where there are no roads. Roads, even unimproved ones, could be miles and miles away. I’ve forded streams, been up to my nuts in bogs, hiked up thousands of feet of single track,…

I couldn’t agree more. In fact, I’ll see your Graveur and raise you an adventure bike. Once I bought my fatbike last winter a little lightbulb went off. Super fun and had me riding in the dead of winter over lakes and trails that were formerly inaccessible on two wheels. But the white hot light of a thousand suns shown down on me when I put 29+…

While on the first KT in 2012 we rode one day around the cobbles and bergs of Oudenaarde with a Belgian former semi-pro. His name escapes me but he was a tall, skinny, handsome bloke that, as you’d expect from a Belgian, was really put together on the bike. I asked him why he liked to ride. He said, “so I can drink beer.” This was also why he…

Wiggo is most certainly a Velominatus, and of a quite high order. That’s good enough for me. @ped beat me to the Normandie sprint. That was pure panache. Doesn’t seem like his head has ever been anyplace near his ass. I really started liking him when he started eating up the stones. Cycling would get back to it’s former glory if more riders,…

My buddy Chris wants to buy a road bike. His primary reason for this is to improve his fitness after splitting his patella in half on a rock while skiing a couple weeks ago. He believes that riding a bi […]

I spent most of my teenage years punishing a mountain bike so hard that after each ride my handlebar would display a slight downwards curvature. I had no sensei, rules, technique, kit, sense of style, or shame. There was not a single meter on my bike other than my inner V-meter. The only timing was imposed by lunch or dinner time. I learn’t negative splits from sprinting home to make curfew hours and be allowed to go out the next day. I rode for pure enjoyment. Rule #6 was the only thing I knew. Even when I crashed. And I did that a lot. Life was simple. Life was good.

But then my friends all got expensive race bikes, kits, and followed boring training schedules. I could afford none of that and beer was much cheaper. So I lost interest in my beloved mountain bike and started running instead.

A decade went by and I was forced to stop running due to an injury in my Achilles heel. A friend gave me his old training bike, a heavy generic Aluminium frame with a surprisingly good Campy Gruppo and wheels, weighing in dangerously close to double digits (my mechanic calls it his favourite “schitzo” bicycle, as it has equal parts of greatness and shittyness). With the bicycle came one line of advice: “Get out there and HTFU, motherfucker. When you are prepared we will ride together.”

A year and a few thousand kilometers have gone by and I am yet to ride with my friend. The responsibility is too great and I am not worthy. Not yet. My guns are still too weak, my spirit too feeble to be worthy of such an honor. I strive to follow the vie Velominatus, my bike is clean and matching, my kit is pristine, and my socks are white and obey the Goldilocks principle. I ride to be worthy of that ride with my friend, my Sensei, whenever it may come. Yet when I ride, my teenage self comes back, I ride for pure enjoyment again.

This is what my Sensei did for me: a cheap bike and a one liner. Mr. Miyagi would be proud. As would Yoda.

But I would also like to mention the Silent Sensei. The one in the black Dogma, pristine kits, and perfect stroke that has been consistently humiliating me in the nearby climb for the past year. The Silent Sensei rides past me without even a hiss other than the sound of his tubulars against the hardened pavement. His face is unfussed, his breathing is more controlled than a ninja’s. There is only the slightest nod as he drops me, awe inspiring guns glistening in the sun, while I am left wondering how I managed to live this long with no lungs and toothpicks for legs. The class is over, the lesson is simple but brutal: “Rule #5, motherfucker”.

Reading articles and viewing accompanying images here you’ll notice a common piece of equipment on a large number of the classic riders’ bikes. The Cinelli forged quill stem. Cinelli must have had one hell of […]

I may have been researching stems at that time. Cinelli 1R did not fall into place. I did eventually find an anodized gray 3ttt Record 84 – 140mm to mount with 3ttt Super Competizione 46cm Merckx bend bars

Yeah, as far as unicrown forks go it’s quite nice but I’d definitely have preferred a model with an engraved crown. In 1997 all the models were sold with steel unicrown forks though, even the titanium one.

The Velominati would not exist if it weren’t for The Rules. Of the current 79 Rules, only two, Rule #34 and Rule #69 stipulate anything about shoes. Perhaps that is all that is needed. However, I do have a set […]

If you’d bother to hang around here for a while rather than getting all pissy and leaving in a huff, you’d find that there’s actually some subtlety behind the rules (not much, but some) and that while we delight in giving each other shit, we’re all riders at the core.

For fuck’s sake, I’ve shown up to two cogals out of shape with unshaven legs and after the initial grief, everyone was great to ride with.

But if you’re going to threaten to bust somebody’s face over a comment about shoes, I’m glad you’re leaving. With that attitude, I don’t want to ride with you no matter what your bike, your biceps, your shoes, or your kit is.